


Original Sinner

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, F/F, F/M, Incubus Bucky, M/M, Multi, Urban Fantasy, tags updated as needed, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-02-28 06:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18750466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: A one night stand leaves Bucky with a lot of questions and a... curse?





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, before you begin, I want to explain the ride we're about to go on together. Yeah, together. 
> 
> I wanted to try a thing, because I was feeling kind of nostalgic for goosebumps books the other day and I tried to talk myself out of this for two days and didn't. So. Here's how this is going to work.
> 
> Every week I'm going to post a chapter, probably around 1k, but sometimes it will be longer. At the end of the chapter are going to be options - maybe one or two, maybe more - I don't know yet. Whichever option has the most "votes" will be the one I write for next week.  
> This honestly could result in just... awful. But, I dunno. It might be fun? So... stick with it if you want, but if you want to nope the hell out of this - that's okay too.
> 
> I WILL be making this Winterhawk, and I WILL be including smut. There won't be a lot of graphic violence, but it's going to be a bit of an adventure story as well as a romance, and there are going to be some bad people and bad things. There will be no non-consensual sex, no underage sex, no tentacles unless viewed in a museum or aquarium, and no suicide or major character death. The tags for this WILL evolve as the fic evolves, and I will update accordingly - but I stand by the above. We won't be going down that road.
> 
> So, if you're still with me...  
> Enjoy and don't forget to choose which option you want for next week.  
> 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The thing was, Bucky didn’t see any other explanation for it.

 

And he had spent a _lot_ of time on WebMD. And a lot of religious websites, ranging from the Jewish Women’s Archive - it was his mom’s go-to for _everything,_ and Bucky had it bookmarked on his phone - to Catholicism.org. But none of it had been helpful. Except maybe he had cancer. And maybe he was cursed by a deity he didn’t believe in, and maybe… maybe he was just going crazy.

 

But Bucky had _gone_ crazy before. Or damn near close to it. And this didn’t feel like that.

 

This felt like…

 

Okay, this felt like he was crazy. Just, a different kind of crazy.

 

And there was only one person in the whole world that he trusted enough to talk to about this shit. The same person who had been by his side when he’d come back from Iraq feeling like a monster and wishing for death and missing an arm. The same person who had bullied his ass into going to PT and signing up for a StarkTech fancy-ass prosthetics trial and going to college and going out on dates and trying to at least act human, even though he’d felt like anything but for the last seven years. Well, it wasn’t so bad these days. These days, he did feel almost human. Kind of.

 

Until lately.

 

Because lately…

 

Lately, weird shit kept happening and Bucky was pretty sure it was his fault, and he was pretty sure it was happening because he was having sex.

 

Which sounded crazy.

 

It had to be crazy.

 

_He_ had to be crazy.

 

That, or he had cancer - according to WebMD.

 

Maybe it was brain cancer. That could explain a lot of it.

 

But not all of it.

 

Because brain cancer wouldn’t make Bucky suddenly able to bench press twice his highest weight at the gym. It wouldn’t make him able to run fifteen miles in an hour and feel only the slightest bit winded. It wouldn’t make a cut on his thumb that was deep enough and long enough that he had momentarily contemplated going to the hospital heal completely in two days.

 

Nothing would make any of that happen.

 

Except… it was happening.

 

Had been happening, as far as Bucky could tell, ever since he’d gotten over the weird stomach flu he’d had after his one-night stand with Garth the hipster three weeks ago. The next morning, Bucky had felt like shit and assumed it was a hangover. But the feeling had lasted for forty-eight hours, and Bucky had wished for death almost as sincerely as he had when he’d been blown up in the desert seven years ago. And then… then, Bucky was fine.

 

Until the next time he had sex - with Alex from his Macroeconomics class after a surprisingly good study session. The sex had been meh, but the next morning, Bucky had gone to the gym and almost thrown the forty pound free-weights he worked out with through the ceiling. Which had led to some cautious experimentation and the discovery that Bucky… Bucky could lift a hell of a lot more than he used to be able to.

 

Three days later, though, he was back to his normal lifting, and totally unable to lift the almost five-hundred pounds on the bench that he had lifted the morning after Alex.

 

But then he and Alex had a repeat meh encounter after their final exam and… once again, the next morning, Bucky was lifting ridiculous numbers. And went for the run.

 

A week after that, Bucky finally took Joe the barista up on his repeated offers to make Bucky coffee at home first thing in the morning and… the sex had definitely been more satisfying than with Alex, the coffee amazing, but Bucky had cut open his thumb while trying to slice open an avocado and… and two days later, it was totally fine.

 

So. It was weird.

 

But Bucky didn’t really think about it that much until four days ago. Because, hell, weird shit happened all of the time, and Bucky still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t at least a little crazy after all the shit he had been through in the Army.

 

Four days ago, though, Bucky had run into Garth the hipster again at a club in midtown. And Garth had grinned at him, had pulled Bucky into the bathroom and sucked Bucky’s dick just as expertly as he had one month ago, and after Bucky came, Garth sat back on his ass and laughed and laughed and laughed until he was sobbing.

 

It wasn’t a reaction Bucky had ever had before from someone who just gave him a blowjob, and he had no idea how to deal with it.

 

Garth, though, finally pulled himself together, cleaned Bucky up and tucked him back into his skintight jeans, and kissed him on the lips.

 

“Thanks for curing me, baby. I had the curse for seventy years. Now, it’s your turn.”

 

With that, Garth had left. And Bucky…

 

Bucky had left the club too, because what the actual _fuck_?

 

Three days of unsuccessfully googling, a very awkward conversation with an ancient and very judgemental rabbi at the Flatbush Jewish Center, and even more awkward one with Father John at Saint Finbar, Bucky was ready to admit he needed help.

 

And his sister, for all that she was… the bane of his existence, she was also the pillar he had leaned on time and time again.

 

So, here he was, waiting for Becca at her favorite coffee shop with her favorite cheddar and garlic bagels with lemon cream cheese, wondering how the fuck he was supposed to tell his kid sister that having sex gave him super powers.

 

Or something.

 

-o-

  


A: Becca has no idea how to help.

 

B: Becca has an idea for how to help.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all the thanks to Ro.
> 
> Tough decision ahead of you this week, friends!

 

* * *

* * *

 

It was bright and sunny, in complete disagreement with Bucky’s inner turmoil, so Becca insisted on buying both of them coffee and then taking the drinks and her haul of bagels out to a bench in the park. 

 

There were joggers out, a few dog walkers, some kids that Bucky thought probably still had school - it was still early May, after all - and some smaller kids playing and running and screaming.

 

Perfect backdrop for their conversation.

 

“So,” Becca said, mouth full of bagel, “you think getting dicked down makes you Superman.”

 

Bucky glared at her, already regretting  _ everything _ .

 

She grinned, coughed, chewed, and finally swallowed.

 

“Are you telling me this to brag, or what?”

 

Either she was taking this ridiculously in stride, or she was fucking with him. Or both. With Becca, it was almost always both.

 

“I just told you I can lift five hundred pounds like it’s nothing and heal crazy fast, and that’s all you have to say?” Bucky demanded.

 

Becca shrugged.

 

“What do you want from me, bro? Look, I got  _ two  _ letters from the Army telling me you were dead - and like, by all accounts, you should be dead. For all I know, you’re a fucking zombie right now. You want to sit here and tell me you have a magic dick? Okay. Weird shit happens all the time. You’re alive. That’s all I care about.”

 

“Becca, this isn’t-”

 

“Besides, I texted Wanda fifteen minutes ago.”

 

That completely derailed Bucky.

 

“Wanda?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“What -  _ why _ ?”

 

Becca shrugged one shoulder and took another huge bite out of her bagel.

 

“Because she’s my girlfriend and I trust her.”

 

Right. That did make sense. Because Becca was, Bucky realized, just humoring him while her girlfriend went in search of someone that could haul him off to… Hell, Bucky didn’t even know where. The hospital or prison, probably.

 

“And,” Becca added, “she’s a witch. So she’ll know what to do about your magic dick.”

 

Bucky closed his eyes and made himself breathe deeply. In and out, in and out.

 

He opened his eyes and Becca was still there, chewing noisily, gaze somewhere between serene and amused as she stared back at him. Around them, the sun was still out, kids were still being kids, joggers were still jogging. A few feet away from them, a tiny dog was taking a giant dump while its owner looked at her phone.

 

“Your girlfriend is a witch,” Bucky hesitantly repeated.

 

Becca nodded and took another sip of her coffee.

 

“Yeah. Runs in the family, apparently. She doesn’t like to talk about it much, since people think she’s crazy or a freak or, well, dangerous.” Becca shrugged. “But since you have a magic dick, I figure you probably won’t mind too much. Plus, she can help. With the dick problem.”

 

“Please,” Bucky closed his eyes again, “please stop talking about my dick.”

 

“You’re the one who couldn’t keep it in your pants,” Becca said.

 

She was laughing at him now.

 

Great.

 

Bucky glared, but she just smiled back.

 

“Becca, this is- this is seriously fucked up.”

 

She sobered almost instantly at his tone.

 

“Bucket,” she reached out and squeezed his right hand, “you were held hostage by terrorists twice and blown up in the desert. Of all the fucked-up shit to happen to you, this is the one thing I’m not going to complain about. Unless your magic dick gets you killed.”

 

He tried to glare at her, but her gaze was steady and serious. He sighed and rolled his hand under hers so that he could hold her hand.

 

“I feel like I’m going crazy,” he muttered.

 

“Try going down on your girlfriend and realizing that she’s levitating both of you because she’s just that into it, and when she’s not paying attention, these things just  _ happen _ . Then talk to me about feeling like you’re going crazy.”

 

There was a lot to unpack there, and Bucky wanted nothing to do with any of it.

 

Shit.

 

Was he going to start making people float during sex?

 

“Did you save any for me, Rebecca?”

 

Bucky looked up at Wanda’s familiar voice.

 

She was approaching them, walk casual, red hair loose around her shoulders and pale eyes sharp as they looked over Bucky. Even though she was smiling, the same slight curve to her lips she always seemed to have, she looked troubled.

 

Becca lifted up the bag filled with the remaining bagels and tub of cream cheese, and Wanda’s smile grew a little.

 

She sat down on Becca’s other side, kissing her forehead before digging into the bag.

 

“So,” she said as she smeared cream cheese on a bagel, “Rebecca said you need help with your dick.”

 

Bucky didn’t know, really, how to feel about how casually his own sister and his sister’s girlfriend were talking about him, his problem, his  _ genitalia _ . 

 

But, well, he needed help, and what the hell else was he going to do?

 

“Yeah. I need help with my dick,” he sighed.

 

Becca choked on her coffee, and Bucky helpfully slapped her back a few times.

 

She glared at him, but since she was alive, Bucky just grinned back at her. He was such a hero. She rolled her eyes at him.

 

“I don’t have a lot of experience with sex magic,” Wanda said, licking a bit of cream cheese off of her thumb after tucking away the knife and tub back in the bag.

 

Becca’s words about the levitating during sex came to mind, and something must have shown on his face because Wanda made a sound and gave Becca a look.

 

“Sorry, I was trying to make him feel better about the dick situation.”

 

“It’s not actually about my dick,” Bucky had to say. “It’s all the shit that happens  _ after _ I have sex.”

 

“Yes, that’s why it’s different than… what happens to us sometimes. That’s just me losing control.” Wanda’s pale cheeks had the slightest bit of pink to them. She had always struck Bucky as being remarkably cool-headed, which was almost the opposite of Becca, who was quick-tempered and brash. “But your situation sounds like sex magic. Your… abilities? Symptoms? Are tied to the act of sex. Right?”

 

“Sure,” Bucky shrugged. “It seems like it?”

 

Wanda nodded. 

 

“Sex magic is… nasty stuff. It’s illegal, actually.”

 

“Wait, there are… laws? For what? Magic?” 

 

Wanda was back to smiling in soft amusement.

 

“Yes, there are laws for magic. For… a lot of things. But I’m not in a position to talk about that. Not here.” She looked around the park, a little anxious, and Bucky wondered why. “There’s a place we can go, tonight. I have friends who might be able to help.”

 

“Awesome,” Becca said. “So we just-”

 

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted her. “You said sex magic is illegal.”

 

Wanda nodded, and it took a moment, but Becca seemed to catch on to what Bucky didn’t want to say out loud.

 

“Oh. Oh, fuck,” Becca groaned. She turned to look at Wanda. “Babe, my brother-”

 

“I know,” Wanda sighed. “I know. But he’s right. Just walking into the College and asking for help is a bad idea.”

 

“The College?” Becca echoed.

 

Wanda nodded.

 

“It’s… the governing body. They oversee us, the… people like me. Creatures.”

 

“Creatures,” Bucky had to laugh. “What, like… like what?”

 

“Vampires, shapeshifters, poltergeists. That sort of thing.”

 

That sort of thing.

 

Right. Because… sure. That was all just… real. Normal, even.

 

“You know what, I really- I think the magic dick thing isn’t that big of a deal,” Bucky decided. This was all just too much. Vampires were real? Bucky’s dick was illegal? Pass. Hard pass, he decided. He had not survived all of the shit in his life up to this point just to get… arrested? By a ‘college’. Because of his dick.

 

“I’ll just stop having sex,” Bucky decided.

 

He crumpled his empty coffee cup.

 

“Problem solved.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

Okay, this week’s decision time:

 

Is Clint Barton:

 

A)vampire

B)shapeshifter

C)Witch

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry, no sexy times this chapter - it got VERY long and I have a very busy day.
> 
> NOW BETA READ!!!!
> 
> Lastly, you've got until Sunday at noon EST for your vote to "count"
> 
> Love you all and sorry this is late!!!!!!!!!!

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

“Hey, handsome, let me buy you a drink.”

 

The problem was not solved.

 

With the semester over, Bucky picked up extra shifts at the bar five blocks from his apartment. The owner was a vet, and had offered Bucky a job two weeks after Bucky had first moved back to Brooklyn, back when he only had one functioning arm and a hell of a weight on both shoulders. That job had been washing dishes in the back, where Bucky could be as miserly as he wanted. Now, though, Bucky waited tables or helped out behind the bar.

 

And, sure, Bucky had been propositioned by patrons before, but never with the alarming frequency and determination of the last five weeks.

 

Bucky sighed, removed the hand from his ass, and gave the newest guy a polite smile.

 

“Sorry, bar policy says no drinking on the job.”

 

“Aw, sugar, what time do you get off? Ha! I bet I can get you off.”

 

That line sure as hell didn’t deserve a polite smile, and Bucky leveled a flat glare at the guy. The guy who, for all of his talk, was definitely sober and apparently not as straight as he or his two buddies had always thought, based on their bewildered looks in his direction as he continued to pursue Bucky.

 

But this wasn’t new - not the touching or the flirting, or even the strangers coming out while they propositioned Bucky. This had happened to Bucky almost every damn day for the last five weeks.

 

At first, it hadn’t been this bad. A few lingering looks while Bucky stood in line at the coffee shop, some phone numbers written on bar receipts or napkins, admiring glances at the gym. But it had escalated all too quickly.

 

Offers to help him at the weight bench that turned into guys dropping their towels in the locker room to barging into his shower stall at the locker room. Bucky stopped showering at the gym the second time that happened, and he was pretty close to giving up on going to the gym entirely, except that he had to do weight training for his arm.

 

The bar was just as bad, if not worse. While no one had shoved their dick in his face or reached for Bucky’s dick, patrons had turned leering and handsy, and it had led to Luke, the owner of the bar, kicking out a few patrons.

 

And the thing was, Luke looked at Bucky with concern. The handful of women who worked out at the same time as Bucky at the gym looked at him with pity and sympathy. The baristas gave him extra whipped cream on his afternoon hot chocolate and drew frowny faces on his cup whenever Bucky had to fend off the attentions of other guys in line while he waited. A few other men seemed to fall into the sympathetic as opposed to thirsty as fuck category as well.

 

It kept Bucky awake at night, laying in bed and trying to figure out what the fuck was going on because, seriously, what the fuck was going on?

 

True to his word, he hadn’t had sex in five weeks. Hell, he hadn’t even masturbated. And it wasn’t that big of a deal.

 

When Bucky had gotten his ass blown up in the desert, he had suffered through months and months of pain and depression and rage and a cocktail of drugs. All of those things had led to Bucky having less than zero interest in sex or physical intimacy of any kind, and it had been almost two years before he even kissed a guy.

 

So he wasn’t going around desperate for sex.

 

Instead, it felt like every gay, bi - or, hell, any guy who was at least a one on the Kinsey scale - came onto Bucky.

 

It was baffling and annoying and ridiculous.

 

But, Bucky told himself as he threw away yet another bar napkin with another phone number on it, it was better than letting his magical dick get him into trouble with the magic police, or whatever the fuck.

 

And it wasn’t like women didn’t have to deal with this shit all of the time, he reminded himself after John from the gym ‘corrected’ Bucky’s stance with a hand on Bucky’s ass. Again.

 

If this was Bucky’s new normal, well… fine. Whatever. He had dealt with worse. He would just… spend the rest of his life celibate and miserable, while strangers and acquaintances and almost-friends pawed at him and Bucky suffered through it.

 

Fuck.

 

If he ever saw Garth again - and he hadn’t despite going back to the same club eight times hoping to find him - Bucky was going to kick the guy’s ass.

 

Despite how utterly fucking miserable Bucky was, he was more or less managing things. Until the night he went out for drinks with Becca and Wanda and their friend, Peter.

 

Peter and Becca were both in the journalism program at NYU, and Bucky had met him a few times before. He was a good kid, if chatty as hell.

 

And he was, apparently, a baby gay.

 

A baby gay who hadn’t yet come out to anyone - or, at least, not to Becca and Wanda.

 

But, five minutes after Bucky sat down next to him at the booth, the kid had his hand on Bucky’s thigh and his mouth on Bucky’s ear as he whispered an awkward proposition to Bucky that was neither appealing or quiet.

 

“Let’s go to the bathroom. Your dick can be the first one I ever suck.”

 

The words and the creeping hand had Bucky getting out of his seat so fast he knocked it over, and both Becca and Wanda stared at him with wide eyes.

 

“What the fuck?” Becca demanded, looking between Peter and Bucky.

 

Peter looked completely undeterred by Bucky literally diving away from him.

 

“C’mon,” he wheedled, getting to his feet. “I promise I’ll try real hard to make it good.”

 

Becca jumped up and put herself between Peter and Bucky.

 

“Whoa, baby - one, we need to work on your pick-up lines and two, let me repeat, what the fuck?”

 

Bucky swallowed hard and edged farther away from Peter, who actually tried to reach past Becca to get to him.

 

This was… worse than it had ever been before.

 

“It’s the curse,” Wanda sighed, still sitting.

 

Bucky looked over at her, and she met his gaze.

 

“I haven’t done anything. I haven’t had sex or- I’m not doing anything,” he repeated, and batted Peter’s hand away.

 

“What, so this curse is just making Peter thirsty for him?” Becca demanded. “Peter. Pete. Peter,” she growled, and grabbed his chin and made him look at her instead of at Bucky over her shoulder. “He’s not interested, okay?”

 

“Why not?” Peter wailed, and looked at Bucky with big, sad eyes. “I know you’re out of my league, but I… I’d make it good for you. I’d try really hard to, and we could-”

 

“Stop, please,” Bucky demanded. “Please.”

 

“How long has this been going on?” Wanda asked.

 

Becca turned to look at Bucky.

 

“You mean Peter isn’t the first?”

 

“I’d love to be your first!” Peter unhelpfully added.

 

Bucky sighed.

 

“I- It’s not- It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m just going to go.”

 

He dug out his wallet, grateful that he always kept a twenty in there, and threw it onto the table.

 

He walked out of the bar, dodging two reaching hands and ignoring a catcall, and wondered if he could just lock himself into his apartment and never go back out.

 

An hour later, he was well on his way to plan ‘full hermit’ - camped out on his couch in sweatpants and his threadbare Army shirt, and working his way through a pint of Java Chip ice cream while he watched Blue Planet on his laptop.

 

And it was fine. Everything was fine. He was going to spend the rest of his life like this, or at least as long as it took for his landlord to evict him, and he-

 

Someone knocked at his door.

 

That was new. Was he going to have people literally banging on his door now trying to get at him?

 

He decided the best course of action was to stay on the couch and continue eating his ice cream.

 

The someone knocked again.

 

“Bucket, open the damn door. Don’t make me go up the fire escape and break your window again. I’m not going to pay for it.”

 

Bucky glared at the window she had broken last time they had one of these standoffs. Though, to be fair to her, Bucky had… not been doing well, and she had probably saved his life by doing it.

 

“Bucket!” she shouted again.

 

With a groan, Bucky got up from the couch and walked over to let her in.

 

“Why can’t you just let me suffer in peace?” he demanded as he opened the door.

 

Bucky had been a sniper, had been a damned good one, and had been very well trained to recognize and analyze threats. So, as soon as the door was open and he realized that Becca was not alone - that Wanda was with her and someone else too - Bucky’s full attention was drawn to the someone else.

 

Someone Bucky had never met before. Someone tall and built and blond, and sporting a bandaid on his nose and hair that was five times more disastrous than the worst bedhead Bucky had ever seen before. Someone who, despite the bandaid and the disaster hair, was ridiculously good-looking.

 

“Aw, Wanda, what the fuck?” the hot guy groaned as he met Bucky’s appraising look. “You didn’t tell me he was an incubus.”

 

Bucky looked from the hot guy to Wanda and back again.

 

“Please let us in?” Becca asked, eyes wide and pleading in the same look that had worked on him since she was a baby.

 

With a sigh, Bucky did, standing to the side and not at all surprised when the hot guy edged his way into the apartment with slumped shoulders and a scowl on his face.

 

“What the hell is going on?” Bucky asked. “Who is this guy?”

 

“Clint, Bucky. Bucky, Clint.” Wanda waved a hand between them in the most half-assed attempt at introductions Bucky had ever seen.

 

“You told me you had a hot friend who needed to get laid. You did not tell me the hot friend was an incubus.” Clint had a finger pointed at Wanda.

 

“What?” Bucky asked, feeling lost and irritated and just… so tired.

 

Clint sighed and rolled his eyes, and dug his phone out of the front pocket of his jeans. He tapped at the screen and then passed it over to Bucky.

 

“See? No mention of you being a sex demon.”

 

Bucky grimaced at the phrase ‘sex demon’, but accepted the phone.

 

He looked at the text conversation between Clint and ‘Scarlet Witch.’

 

**Scarlet Witch: Hey what ru doing? Have a friend who needs to get laid. It’s an emergency.**

 

**Me: Is he cute?**

 

**Scarlet Witch: image attached.**

 

**It was a photo of Bucky and Becca shoving donuts into each other’s mouths, taken three months ago when they had met up for breakfast with Wanda. Wanda had helpfully circled Bucky’s face in red.**

 

**Me: I’m in. Gotta love a guy who can handle a mouthful.**

 

**Scarlet Witch: Remember how we agreed that I wouldn’t talk about pussy if you don’t talk about dick?**

 

**Me: I was referring to his mouth full of DONUTS, Wanda! Get your mind out of the gutter.**

 

**Scarlet Witch: Meet me at our place in twenty?**

 

Bucky handed the phone back to Clint.

 

“‘Sex demon’?” He repeated the phrase uneasily.

 

“Nothing personal, you seem like a very nice sex demon, and definitely a cute one,” Clint said, and gave Bucky a smirk that, in any other circumstances, would have likely had Bucky turning on the charm and trying to flirt.

 

“You never said I was a demon,” Bucky turned on Wanda.

 

“Clint.” She glared at the blond-haired man instead of responding to Bucky directly.

 

Clint held up his hands in a placating gesture.

 

“Sorry. Sorry. You’re probably not technically a sex demon. You’ve just been cursed by one.”

 

“Garth was a sex demon?”

 

“His name was Garth?” Becca repeated, eyes wide and judgemental.

 

“He was a hipster,” Bucky growled.

 

“Garth.” Wanda said the name as if it was something dangerous and slightly disgusting.

 

“Garth?” Clint was smirking again.

 

Bucky buried his face in his hands.

 

“Why is this happening to me? Why- What the fuck, Wanda, did you invite this guy to my apartment to fuck me?”

 

She shrugged, completely apologetic.

 

“You said I was illegal!”

 

“I said sex magic was illegal,” she corrected.

 

“Same thing,” Bucky and Clint said at the same time. Clint smirked at him yet again, and Bucky was really going to need him to stop doing that, because it wasn’t getting any less attractive the more he did it.

 

“Look,” Wanda glared at the both of them, “I just watched one of the nicest guys I know beg Bucky for sex. A guy who is not out, and who would never, ever force himself on anyone, but he was all over Bucky. And he wasn’t the first, was he?”

 

Bucky sighed.

 

“No,” he admitted.

 

“Bucket,” Becca said, a warning tone in her voice that in past years had never meant anything good.

 

“I stopped having sex and… guys started coming on to me.”

 

“How many of them tried to touch you?” Clint asked, smirk gone.

 

Bucky shrugged.

 

“Most of them?”

 

“How long?” Clint was actually frowning now.

 

“Five weeks. It wasn’t this bad the first few days, though.”

 

“Bucky!” Becca shouted. “This shit has been happening to you for five weeks?! What the hell?”

 

“Was that when you stopped having sex?” Clint asked.

 

Bucky nodded in miserable agreement.

 

“Huh. That’s… You’ve gone five weeks without sex?”

 

“Since my dick is apparently illegal, yes.”

 

Clint sighed and scrubbed at his face.

 

“Alright. You two can go, I’ll fuck him.”

 

“Wait- what?” Bucky felt like he was repeating that word a lot, and he wasn’t very impressed with himself, but this situation was fucked enough that he didn’t care that much.

 

“You definitely need emergency sex, but I’m not fucking you while my apprentice and her girlfriend - hi, I’m Clint, by the way, it’s nice to meet you. Wanda’s told me a lot about you - are in the next room. So, ladies, if you want to go, I can take it from here.”

 

“Don’t I get any say in this?” Bucky demanded.

 

Clint turned to him, wide-eyed and a little slack-jawed.

 

“Yes? Are you- Wanda, did you not ask the sex demon first if he wanted to have sex?”

 

Wanda looked sheepish.

 

“It was an emergency.”

 

Clint sighed and rubbed at his temples.

 

“Rule seven, Wanda. What is rule seven?”’

 

Wanda sighed, sounding just as put-out and frustrated as Clint.

 

“The soul is sacred, and consent is the only way to open the soul for pure magic.”

 

It sounded like she was reciting something, and the words seemed as unfamiliar to Becca as they were to Bucky. He looked over at her, raising an eyebrow, and she shrugged in response.

 

“Right,” Clint agreed. “And since we aren’t planning on hexing Bucky or attacking him, and since he’s not in a coma and doesn’t need an intervention to save his life, we need consent.”

 

Clint turned to Bucky, face serious.

 

“So, Bucky, can I- Wait. This is fucking ridiculous. Kids, you two can go.” He waved a hand at Wanda and Becca. “I’ve got it from here.”

 

“Bucky?” Becca asked him, because she was the best sister in the world and wasn’t going to leave him alone with a stranger who kept calling him a sex demon unless Bucky said it was okay.

 

He looked over at Clint.

 

The guy was strong and apparently a witch like Wanda. So, that was concerning. But he also didn’t seem interested in hurting Bucky and-

 

And, Bucky just realized, he also hadn’t come onto Bucky at all. Not like Peter had, or any of the other guys in the last few weeks.

 

Whatever Bucky, or the curse or whatever, was doing… it didn’t seem to have any effect on Clint at all.

 

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Bucky assured Becca.

 

“Call me,” she ordered as Wanda tugged her towards the door.

 

“I will,” Bucky promised right before the door closed.

 

Leaving Bucky alone with Clint.

 

“So,” Clint smirked at him again, “emergency sex?”

 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

 

Alright, your choice this week:

 

  1. Let the good times roll

  2. Disaster strikes AGAIN




 

(either way there WILL be sexy times in ch4, that were promised in ch3 but it got too long, sorry friends)

  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, as always, thank you thank you thank you Ro. You are... beyond too good to me. 
> 
> And to all you dear readers: I'm really fucking sorry, because there is no fucking this chapter. There were more... thoughts and feelings that needed to be expressed and the reality is that I am at a fucking time crunch with work and life and I couldn't make this chapter longer.  
> as a result, NEXT WEEK will be ch4 part two: the fuckening. If you will. I promise to never call it that again. Scout's honor.

* * *

* * *

 

 

Bucky had been favored with worse propositions than  _ so, emergency sex? _ But he had said no to all of those.

 

This one, however…

 

“Why do I need emergency sex?” he asked at last.

 

Clint’s smirk faded and his handsome face turned grim.

 

“It’s been five weeks - which, kind of impressive for a baby incubus to go that long without feeding. But you also said people have been touching you, and the way Wanda described whatever happened with you and that guy… It sounds like you’ve got some power behind your… demon or curse or, you know, however you want to think about it.”

 

Bucky realized his pint of ice cream was still on the table, abandoned and melting, and picked it up. He delivered it back to the freezer and used the opportunity to hide his face against the door of the freezer and close his eyes.

 

This was so fucked up. Everything was so-

 

“What kind of power?”

 

Clint sighed, and Bucky turned around to see the other man leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded on the surface, forearms and biceps flexed just enough to draw Bucky’s attention before he focused on Clint’s face. Which was distracting enough as it was.

 

“The kind that makes you irresistible. Probably some other things too.”

 

Other things. Things, Bucky wondered, like perhaps healing quickly and having increased strength and stamina?

 

For some reason, he hesitated to actually ask.

 

“You’re resisting me just fine. And it’s not everyone who comes on to me. It’s just…” Bucky trailed off and tried to figure out how to describe the people who had been hitting on him and groping him.

 

“It’s just potential prey,” Clint nodded, as if he didn’t need Bucky to actually go into detail. “You’re an incubus, so you have… not really pheromones, not really an aura but… you know, magic. It compels your food of choice to have an interest in you.”

 

“I don’t want to sleep with Peter,” Bucky protested.

 

Clint frowned in confusion.

 

“Wanda’s friend.”

 

“Oh, well, maybe not him specifically but… does he tick off a few boxes for you?”

 

Bucky thought about it and had to admit that, if Peter wasn’t quite so young and wasn’t as close to Becca, he might have been interested.

 

“Okay,” he conceded. “But that doesn’t explain you.”

 

Clint was back to smirking, and Bucky really couldn’t decide whether or not to hate that expression.

 

“You saying I tick off a few boxes for you?” Clint asked with a wink.

 

Bucky flushed and scowled, because yes. Clint ticked off a few boxes for him.

 

“You don’t seem to be throwing yourself at me,” Bucky said instead of making even more of a fool of himself.

 

Clint shrugged.

 

“Well, sure. What kind of a Sentinel would I be if every pretty incubus turned my head, huh?”

 

“I have absolutely no idea what you just said.”

 

Clint waved a hand in a vague gesture.

 

“Magic. I’m… It’s kind of my job to watch out for dangerous shit.”

 

“Like me.”

 

Clint gave Bucky an appraising glance.

 

“You’re a baby incubus,” Clint said, voice slow and measured, “and you’re trying to avoid feeding. You’re a problem, but you aren’t dangerous  _ yet _ .”

 

“What would make me dangerous?”

 

“You continuing to starve yourself - your magic is going to try to lure prey to you, even if you don’t want to feed. If you think things are bad now… I’m honestly scared to think what might happen in another week. On the other hand, if you start feeding - start taking advantage of people, using them, abusing them…”

 

“I would never do that,” Bucky argued, and then it hit him in a terrible, nauseating rush. “But I did, didn’t I? I slept with Alex and Joe. They… I  _ lured _ them into it, didn’t I?”

 

“Hang on now, before we go all shame spiral here, tell me about Alex and Joe.”

 

“Joe is the barista at the coffee shop near campus. He’s been flirting with me for months, and I finally let him take me out and-”

 

“And so, no, you definitely didn’t lure him in. He wanted in your pants probably the first time he saw you. Nothing to do with being an incubus,” Clint assured him. “Who is Alex?”

 

“Classmate. Study partner. We… I don’t know if… We were flirting for most of the semester, but he didn’t seem- And I wasn’t- Fuck. Fucking hell. I- What the  _ fuck _ ?”

 

“Hey, hey.”

 

Suddenly, Clint was on the other side of the kitchen counter, inches away from Bucky, hands held up in a placating manner. Bucky instinctively backed away, until his hip slammed into the opposite counter and he hissed in pain.

 

“Bucky, look, this sucks. This sucks a whole fucking lot. But you didn’t- You didn’t pick up some random strangers. You didn’t pick up that Peter kid. You slept with a guy who was just… normal thirsty for you and another guy who, in other circumstances… Look, you didn’t know, okay? And, hell, dude, if the two of you were flirting all semester… I mean, you’re hot as fuck, right? So… let’s mark Alex down as a maybe, maybe not, and just… go from here, okay?”

 

“What about Garth?” Bucky had to ask, remembering that last blow job, remembering Garth’s laugh.

 

“What about him? Oh, yeah, he probably lured you into fucking him.”

 

Bucky’s stomach twisted again. Fuck. He hadn’t even thought about  _ that _ . But, he’d liked Garth. He’d enjoyed flirting with him and the sex and… And was this it? Was this the rest of Bucky’s life? Questioning just how non-consensual the sex he had was?

 

“How do I get rid of it?” Bucky asked, not at all surprised to hear his voice come out weak and raspy.

 

Clint’s hands dropped back to his sides.

 

“That’s, uh, gonna be tricky.”

 

“ _ Why _ is it going to be tricky?”

 

“Because the curse chooses the host.”

 

“The- What the  _ fuck _ does that mean?”

 

Clint offered him a wan smile.

 

“I mean, the curse decided it wanted to say adios to Garth and hopped aboard the Bucky train. There’s something about you that makes a better host than your hipster hookup. The curse is going to hang onto you until it finds a better host.”

 

“It’s a parasite.”

 

“It’s a sex demon. It’s not science, it’s magic.”

 

“There’s got to be… some way to cure it. Exorcise it. Whatever.”

 

Clint sighed again, and he looked genuinely remorseful. The look did not fill Bucky with confidence.

 

“Sure, there are ways to get rid of it. If you cut off your dick and your tongue, I guarantee that curse will be off to a new host before you’ve stopped bleeding out. Or you can make a blood sacrifice. A life for a life. If you want to kill someone and can find a witch to do the ritual for you, you can get rid of the demon. And, for the record, I am  _ not _ willing to do that ritual for you.”

 

“I’m not going to kill someone,” Bucky hissed.

 

This was so fucked up. This was-

 

“Look, so, this all probably seems like a lot, because it is, but, I mean. It could be worse.”

 

Bucky huffed out a laugh, and then, to his horror, choked on a sob.

 

Clint’s smile wobbled at the sound.

 

“You want a hug?” Clint asked, holding his arms out as if to demonstrate his arm span and advertise his ability to hug.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky croaked. Because fuck it. He  _ did _ want a hug.

 

Clint pulled him close, tucking Bucky’s head against his shoulder and wrapping his strong arms around Bucky and spreading his hands wide across Bucky’s back.

 

It felt damn good, and maybe Bucky was just that desperate to be held, but Clint was firm and solid and smelled like citrus and cedar and coffee. Mostly coffee.

 

Bucky wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, Clint holding him while Bucky mashed his face against Clint’s neck and tried to just breathe him in and not think about anything else at all.

 

Eventually, though, Clint’s hands moved, one rubbing soothing circles across Bucky’s shoulders and the other drifting up to smooth over Bucky’s hair. His fingers tangled and tugged a little sharply, and Bucky sucked in a breath.

 

“Sorry,” Clint murmured. “I’m the worst at this kind of thing. I’m too much of a disaster to even make you feel better.”

 

“No, that wasn’t- It didn’t hurt,” Bucky assured him. “And you’re definitely making me feel better.”

 

Clint made a noncommittal humming sound, but he went back to rubbing Bucky’s shoulders and, a moment later, started to card his fingers through Bucky’s hair. 

 

When he tugged on Bucky’s hair again, short and sharp, it was clearly intentional. Bucky couldn’t help but arch into the pull, couldn’t help but nuzzle closer to Clint, and then other man huffed out a laugh.

 

“You’re like a cat,” Clint sound amused.

 

“Let me guess, you’re a dog person.”

 

“Yep,” Clint confirmed, but he continued to pet Bucky - there was no other word for it, really. “But I’m not exactly anti-cat.”

 

“Always wanted a cat,” Bucky confessed to Clint’s t-shirt. Maybe it was his detergent that smelled so strongly of citrus?

 

“This place not allow pets?” Clint guessed. He gave another tug on Bucky’s hair, and Bucky damn near melted against him. He remembered, unwelcome and unexpected, the ex he had dated before joining the Army. Matthew. He had been a good guy - kind and funny and, like Bucky, trying to figure out his life. He had loved to brush Bucky’s hair, nearly as long then as it was now, and Bucky had loved to sit at his feet and let Matthew brush and braid his hair. 

 

“Nope,” Bucky confirmed. “Plus, I’ve killed three cacti in the last year. I’m not fit for nurturing.”

 

Clint snorted a laugh, the puff of air blowing across Bucky’s forehead. 

 

He shifted, stepping backwards and bringing Bucky with him, and leaned back against the counter. The move jostled Bucky, and Clint’s lips brushed against his temple.

 

“Sorry,” Clint murmured, but instead of moving his mouth away, he pressed a gentle, tentative kiss to the spot again.

 

“For what?” Bucky had to ask.

 

“You seem like a great guy. I mean, you’re friends with Wanda and, using me as the exception that proves the rule, she has very discerning taste in the humans she associates with. I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

 

Bucky sighed.

 

“Yeah, well, I guess better me than Garth.” Because now that Bucky understood just what was going on, he really, really wanted to hunt down that asshole and explain to him exactly how fucked-up everything he had done for the last seventy years was.

 

Fuck.

 

Wait. 

 

_ Wait _ .

 

Garth, with his reddish-blond hair and freckles and tanned skin and bright smile and beard, had not looked a day over thirty. 

 

_ How _ had he been an incubus for seventy years?

 

Fuck.

 

Was  _ Bucky _ going to be stuck with this… thing… for seventy years? Longer? This was the rest of his life, he realized. Or - maybe it was? He didn’t understand.

 

He didn’t even know if he wanted to understand.

 

Bucky tightened his arms around Clint. The guy felt really, really nice. Bucky kind of just wanted to stand here hugging him forever and forget about the world.

 

Somewhere in the living room, Bucky’s phone started to ring.

 

He sighed.

 

“That’s probably Becca, wondering if we’ve fucked yet.”

 

“Want me to let you go answer it?”

 

“No,” Bucky assured him. 

 

Eventually, the phone fell silent again.

 

“You know,” Clint said after tugging on Bucky’s hair again, “the fucking thing… would probably make you feel better.”

 

“Yeah? A total stranger having emergency sex with me so that I don’t… go rape people would make me feel better?”

 

Clint’s grip tightened on Bucky.

 

“I’m not an expert on incubi, but I know enough to know most of the symptoms associated with hunger. Depression, anxiety, despair-”

 

“Or I’m feeling all of those things because this is a shit situation.”

 

“I’m not saying you don’t have a right to feel them.” Clint softened his voice, and it was clear he was trying to manage Bucky. “But the curse is making - or will make them - worse. It’s going to wear you down until you give in - or until your hunger is strong enough to lure someone in.”

 

Both prospects were awful. So too, however, was the thought of just… fucking Clint because he was  _ here _ . 

 

“What if the curse chooses you as a new host?” Bucky asked, faced with that sudden, horrible thought.

 

Clint laughed, and it was such an incongruous reaction that Bucky had to pull away and look up at him.

 

“That, uh, that might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Clint said, cheeks washed over with pink. “But you don’t have to worry. It won’t want anything to do with me.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Complicated,” Clint shrugged. “Not a first date story.”

 

Bucky huffed.

 

“This is a date?”

 

“Or a hook-up. Intervention? I don’t know. Whatever you want to call it.”

 

Bucky swallowed hard, swallowed against the - yes, fine - depression and anxiety and despair that threatened to overwhelm him. 

 

“Bucky.”

 

He made himself meet Clint’s gaze.

 

“Look, these aren’t great circumstances to meet under. I sure as hell wish you weren’t an incubus, because I wouldn’t wish this curse on anyone. But, just so we’re on the same page - you’re hot as hell, and you’re cute and funny, and having sex with you? Not an imposition at  _ all _ . On my end, it is so, so, so very consensual.”

 

Which was all really nice to hear. It was.

 

But, the thing was, Bucky didn’t have a choice. 

 

Sure, Clint was hot as hell and, yeah, he ticked off a lot of boxes for Bucky because he was funny and kind and a little cocky and a little bit of a jerk. He was great. And if Bucky had met him in a bar or- hell, anywhere but in his own apartment after Wanda summoned him, Bucky would definitely be interested.

 

“How about… one kiss, huh?” Clint prompted.

 

Bucky frowned at him.

 

“You’re on the fence, right?” Clint asked, and Bucky had to nod. Because yes, he was on the fence - if the fence was at the edge of a cliff.

 

“So, one kiss, see if… see what happens?”

 

And, well, it wasn’t the worst idea ever. 

 

Bucky sighed, and Clint’s lips twisted.

 

“Sorry,” Bucky managed, and Clint offered him a sympathetic little smile.

 

“Me too,” Clint said, and then smoothed his hand over Bucky’s cheek and down to his chin. He used the knuckle of his index finger to gently tilt Bucky’s head back.

 

Bucky licked his lips, feeling weirdly nervous, but he followed Clint’s lead when the other man leaned in and met him halfway.

 

-o-

 

So sorry folks.

The sex. Took too long to get to. So, yes, I’m a liar and a tease. NEXT WEEK you will get sexy times. 

Also, however, this week there is no A or B or anything - because we will still be at sexy times and DISASTER for next week because the majority of you are cruel, cruel people.

  
  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
  



	5. The Fuckening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all the thanks to Ro for beta reading and hand-holding and being a hell of an awesome human.
> 
> Enjoy the Fuckening!!!!

* * *

* * *

 

Clint was damn good at kissing.

 

He started off slow, not so much tentative as teasing, his lips a little chapped as they ghosted over Bucky’s and Bucky found himself chasing after the sensation, leaning against Clint and stretching up to press his lips firmly against Clint’s.

 

And Clint was smiling into the kiss - not the smirk that Bucky already half-loved, half-loathed, but a small curve of his lips that had Bucky’s own mouth shifting to match. 

 

This close, the scent of citrus and cedar was even stronger, and Clint’s lips actually tasted a little like coffee - not quite bitter, but something dark and rich and  _ there _ in a way that was simultaneously thrilling and grounding for Bucky.

 

Clint’s hands were still on him, one on Bucky’s back and the other still under his chin, no longer tilting Bucky’s head up but now just cradling his jaw, and it felt…

 

It felt  _ good _ . 

 

When Clint sucked Bucky’s lower lip between his own, still somehow managing to smile, Bucky had to stifle a moan.

 

It felt  _ really _ good.

 

Bucky allowed himself to relax into it, allowed himself to just enjoy feeling good, and he ran his palms over Clint’s biceps and up to his broad shoulders, feeling the strength in the other man’s body and appreciating the hell out of it.

 

All too soon, Clint eased back from the kiss, releasing Bucky’s lower lip and straightening up so slowly that Bucky tried to chase after him for a second before he realized what he was doing.

 

It made him blush, made him huff out a sigh and turn his head away from Clint’s ever-present smile and the warmth in his blue eyes.

 

“Fuck,” Clint murmured.

 

Bucky met his gaze then, surprised to see that Clint actually looked every bit as flushed as Bucky himself felt. He swallowed hard.

 

Halfway to wrecked was a good look on Clint Barton.

 

“So, uh, that was… I mean…” Clint’s smile twitched, became self-deprecating, and  _ fuck _ . This man was not fair.

 

“Not the worst kiss ever,” Bucky offered.

 

Clint laughed.

 

“Yeah. Not the worst kiss ever. I- If you-  I… I don’t know what the fuck to say that’ll convince you to kiss me again,” Clint confessed.

 

And that… that was exactly the right thing, as it turned out.

 

Bucky shifted his hands up to Clint’s hair, tugged on the short, messy strands until Clint was leaning down again and Bucky could get his mouth back on Clint’s.

 

Clint groaned and, finally, Bucky felt his smile slip away as Clint’s lips parted and Bucky licked into his mouth.

 

The taste of coffee was stronger, but so was the citrus, and it was a weird mix, potent and somehow compelling, and Bucky wanted to  _ devour _ Clint’s mouth.

 

Clint didn’t seem to be offering up any complaints, still tugging at Bucky’s hair, though not hard enough to upset their kiss, and his other hand was shifting down Bucky’s back, tracing over his spine until he reached Bucky’s waist and his fingers tightened, digging into Bucky’s hip and holding him close.

 

Bucky wasn’t short, and he wasn’t small. Being held like this, having to stretch up to reach Clint and feeling the other man’s powerful build wrapped around him, was unexpectedly hugely arousing. It wasn’t that Bucky felt or wanted to feel vulnerable, but there was something about Clint, even when he was stumbling over words and blushing, that made Bucky feel like this was safe. Like  _ he _ was safe.

 

Weird that that could be so hot.

 

Bucky shifted away from Clint’s mouth and started to kiss his away along the taller man’s sharp jaw, nipping at it and grinning when Clint groaned and his hands on Bucky tightened. He did it again, and then licked and sucked along the hinge of Clint’s jaw before finding an earlobe.

 

“Fuck,” Clint sighed when Bucky teased at the delicate flesh.

 

“If that’s what you want,” Bucky offered.

 

Clint gave him a gentle push, putting space between them, and the angle offered Bucky a view of slim purple hearing aids nestled in and above Clint’s ears. Something about the fact that they were purple was… adorable? Cool? Bucky couldn’t decide.

 

“Is that what  _ you _ want?” Clint asked, and his gaze was once again level and serious as he stared at Bucky.

 

Bucky offered up a wry smile.

 

“Seems like I don’t have much of a choice,” Bucky shrugged.

 

Clint sighed. 

 

“It doesn’t have to be- It can probably just be a hand job.”

 

“Probably?” Bucky echoed skeptically.

 

It was Clint’s turn to shrug.

 

“You’re still a baby incubus. You might not be that hungry. It’s… I’d like to make this the least awful experience for you possible.”

 

Clint looked so sincere, looked so  _ apologetic _ , as if offering up himself for sex wasn’t good enough, as if he wasn’t good enough and-

 

And in any other circumstances, Bucky would already be kissing the grimace off of Clint’s face and telling him how beautiful he was, how sexy and pretty and strong and- 

 

And, the thing was, this wasn’t other circumstances. This was  _ these _ circumstances - shitty circumstances where Bucky had a shitty curse and Clint was here for emergency sex because Bucky was a danger to himself and society, probably. But these circumstances were  _ also _ the ones where Wanda had sent Clint a photo of Bucky being an idiot and Clint had thought he was hot enough to be down for it. 

 

Yes, Bucky wished he had met Clint anywhere, anytime, else. But he hadn’t. He had met him today, in the midst of all of this garbage, of this actual trash fire - but he had still met him.

 

“What’s your stance on blowjobs?” Bucky asked Clint.

 

Clint’s eyes flared wide, pupils dilating, and his cheeks flushed. He licked his lips, and Bucky couldn’t help but look at his mouth.

 

“I, uh, love them? So, so much.  _ So  _ much.”

 

Bucky grinned, and Clint grinned back. 

 

He reached for Bucky’s fly, but Bucky stopped him, and Clint’s grin turned into a frown.

 

“I meant, can I give you one?” Bucky clarified.

 

Clint sagged back against the counter, his grip on Bucky’s jeans pulling him close again.

 

“Fuck. Yes, baby. Give me anything you want.”

 

The endearment, even from a near stranger, made Bucky’s heart do a weird stutter-stop, and sent a flash of heat directly to his groin.

 

Yeah. Shitty circumstances be damned, Clint Barton was a goddamned gift.

 

Bucky leaned up to kiss him again, and Clint returned it enthusiastically, his hands moving from Bucky’s waist to his chest, rucking up Bucky’s shirt and teasing over his skin even as Bucky worked open Clint’s jeans.

 

Clint’s fingers found their way to Bucky’s right nipple and rolled the hard little nub, touch firm and sure, and Bucky groaned into Clint’s mouth.

 

He struggled with the zipper for a moment, but then managed to get the jeans all of the way open. He reached inside and discovered that Clint was not wearing underwear.

 

“You always go commando?” Bucky had to know, asking the question as he ran his fingers down the length of Clint’s cock where it was pressed, long and hard and hot, against the inseam of his left leg. Fuck, he was big, and Bucky couldn’t wait to taste him.

 

“Wanda said it was an emergency,” Clint said, voice shaky.

 

Bucky pulled away from their kiss and looked up at him again, pleased and proud as hell that Clint looked already fully wrecked.

 

Bucky grinned and sank down to his knees in front of Clint, tugging the open jeans down with him.

 

Clint’s cock popped free, bouncing once before jutting out in perfect invitation for Bucky to get his mouth on it.

 

“Oh god, oh baby,  _ fuck _ ,” Clint whined as Bucky slowly swallowed him from head to root, taking his time and using his well-honed cock-sucking skills to take down Clint’s damn impressive cock.

 

Clint’s hands found their way to Bucky’s hair again, fingers tangling in the strands, and when Bucky hollowed his cheeks and sucked his way back off Clint, Clint’s blunt nails dug into Bucky’s scalp.

 

“Fuck.  _ Fuck _ , you’re- Fuck, that’s unreal,” Clint was panting by the time Bucky was sitting on his heels and staring up at him.

 

Clint stared right back and whined again when Bucky, still maintaining eye contact, flicked his tongue out to catch the precome that welled up along the slit at the head of Clint’s cock.

 

“Show me what you like,” Bucky told him.

 

“I- Everything you just did was great,” Clint assured him.

 

Bucky laughed, and his huffed breath made Clint shiver. He reached up and found one of Clint’s hands, wrapped his fingers around Clint’s and tugged hard, arching his own head back.

 

“Like that,” he explained to Clint. “Fuck me how you want.”

 

“Please don’t let me wake up before this fantastic fucking sex dream is over,” Clint groaned.

 

Bucky had to laugh, and Clint’s lips twitched up.

 

“Not a dream,” Bucky assured him.

 

“That’s what you would say, fantasy sex god on your knees, looking up at me like you want to devour me.”

 

“I do,” Bucky assured him. “I really fucking do.”

 

Clint groaned again, and he freed his right hand from Bucky’s hair and traced it down his cheek. He pressed his thumb against Bucky’s lower lip, insistent until Bucky relaxed his mouth and jaw and opened wide.

 

“God, baby, you’re so hot,” Clint whispered, eyes so dark now they were barely even blue anymore. He guided his cock to Bucky’s lips. “You look so good swallowing me down.”

 

Bucky damn near preened at the compliment, and sure, he’d always… kind of had a thing for that, for being told he was pretty, because he so rarely felt that way. But Clint had sounded so sincere and needy, Bucky didn’t even have the urge to question his words.

 

And then Clint was using his left hand, still tangled in Bucky’s hair, to pull Bucky’s mouth down his length.

 

They groaned in unison, Bucky’s entire body alight with sensation as Clint fucked into him.

 

“Baby,” Clint crooned, and honestly? Bucky didn’t mind if that was the only thing Clint ever called him, ever again, because that one word from his lips made Bucky want to melt.

 

Clint rolled his hips, steady and shallow, and Bucky hummed in approval.

 

“Like that?” Clint asked, lips tilting, and Bucky hummed again. Yeah, he liked it a  _ lot _ .

 

“Look so good. Feel so fucking amazing,” Clint added as he paired another roll of his hips with a tug to Bucky’s hair, gently feeding more of his cock down Bucky’s throat.

 

Clint’s dick was almost too much, filling Bucky’s mouth and nudging the back of his throat, and Bucky groaned in delight as he struggled not to choke, as he debated the merits of breathing.

 

Clint’s right hand moved to cradle Bucky’s skull, and when he started to fuck Bucky’s mouth in earnest, Bucky felt like just floating away, like he  _ could _ just float away because Clint was looking down at him, eyes dark and determined, skin flushed and lips parted to let out harsh, whining breaths of air as he used Bucky’s mouth.

 

Bucky felt almost unbearably aroused, his own cock still trapped in his sweatpants and no doubt leaving a wet spot all over his crotch, but Bucky only wrapped his own hands around Clint’s bare thighs and held on as Clint fucked him.

 

“So fucking pretty,” Clint assured him. “Look at your mouth, baby. Lips wrapped around me, taking it so good,” he praised as he pulled out and pushed back in.

 

Bucky let his own eyes slip shut, his desire to look up at Clint outweighed by the heavy feeling in his body, as if his skin was a weighted blanket, as if the only thing he really needed to do was just exist so Clint could keep rolling his hips, just like that, filling Bucky’s mouth and telling him how pretty he was.

 

“Mm, fuck- You- Oh, fuck. Pretty baby, you really like this, huh? Like me fucking this pretty face?”

 

Bucky hummed again - maybe in answer to Clint’s words, syrupy and warm as his voice washed over Bucky - but more to feel the way Clint shuddered into him.

 

“So good at this,” Clint said. “So good. So, so good, baby.”

 

Clint’s grip tightened, his pace turning erratic, and Bucky sucked and hummed in blissful absentmindedness. It had been a while, since he’d felt like this with anyone, since he’d  _ let _ himself get like this. Not with Joe, or Alex, who he hadn’t known well enough and certainly hadn’t trusted enough to give up control like this. Not even Garth, who had been wonderfully bossy, had gotten Bucky into this kind of headspace.

 

Almost exactly coinciding with that thought, Clint abruptly pulled Bucky off of his cock, holding his hair and head away when Bucky leaned forward in an attempt to get his mouth back on Clint.

 

“Gonna come, baby. Gonna come just for you.” Clint’s voice sounded strained, low and shattered, and Bucky blearily blinked his eyes open to watch Clint’s right hand work over himself.

 

Clint was still staring down at Bucky, still had that same dark look in his eyes. It made Bucky feel warm, made the twisted feelings and memories associated with Garth burn away, and then Clint was coming in a rush over his own hand. 

 

“ _ Fuck _ , baby,” Clint groaned, as if he was still fucking into Bucky, as if just the sight of Bucky at his feet - with his spit-covered face and swollen lips - had been enough to send him over. 

 

Clint gave a weak laugh and slid down to the floor, tangling his legs around Bucky and laughing again when the jeans still around his thighs forced him into an awkward position. Clint grimaced and used his come-smeared hand to tug the jeans loose, and then he was bare-assed on Bucky’s kitchen floor and pulling Bucky into his lap.

 

“C’mere, baby. Let me take care of you,” Clint murmured against Bucky’s lips just before kissing him.

 

Bucky was pretty sure that everything Clint had been doing since the moment he stepped into the apartment had been him  _ taking care _ of Bucky.

 

But then Clint had a hand down Bucky’s sweatpants, and Bucky’s brain very abruptly and very happily went offline.

 

He scrambled to get his arms around Clint’s shoulders as Clint’s calloused hand fit around Bucky’s cock and stroked him.

 

“Mm,” Clint said against Bucky’s lips. “Your cock feels so good, baby. Bet you taste amazing. Bet you’d look so pretty putting your cock in my mouth. I’d love to ride you, baby, love to have you buried deep inside me and see you floatin’ away and being so good for me.”

 

It was like Clint could unravel Bucky’s soul, as if he knew exactly what to say and do, and Bucky came in a panting, mewling mess.

 

Clint kissed him again, still stroking Bucky’s cock, not letting go until Bucky’s panting turned into whining, and even then, Clint didn’t fully let him go.

 

Bucky had to close his eyes, had to lean his forehead against Clint’s and figure out how the  _ fuck _ breathing worked again. 

 

He had no idea how long it took him. Maybe an hour. 

 

But when he finally felt human again, finally felt the wet smear of his own come against his thigh and the sticky press of his sweatpants and Clint’s hand still holding Bucky’s soft cock, Bucky drew in a shuddery breath and made himself look at Clint.

 

Clint was grinning at him, looking well-fucked and extremely pleased with himself.

 

“Hey,” he greeted Bucky, as if Bucky had just walked into the room instead of spent however long in his lap.

 

Then again, Bucky sure as hell didn’t  _ feel _ like he’d been here the entire time.

 

“Fuck,” was all Bucky could say.

 

Clint laughed, and his thighs jostled under Bucky’s ass, and Bucky couldn’t really help himself. He rocked his ass against Clint, and Clint’s laughter abruptly died.

 

“Baby,” he said, and Bucky didn’t know if it was a warning or an invitation.

 

Bucky licked his lips, and Clint’s eyes followed the movement.

 

Clint groaned.

 

“How the fuck is this happening to me right now?” he asked, and pulled Bucky close for another kiss.

 

Bucky returned it enthusiastically. He was nowhere near ready to go again, but Clint was firming up nicely under him, and Bucky loved to get fucked after coming. For all of Clint’s dirty talk about riding Bucky, Bucky wondered if he could convince Clint to fuck  _ him _ and-

 

The door to the apartment burst open.

 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

 

Two men walked into the apartment, both dressed in unrelieved black. The taller, dark-haired one looked like some kind of soldier or, Bucky thought after taking a second glance, a mercenary. The other man was golden-haired and sleek, wearing a black suit that made him look imposing as hell.

 

“Rumlow,” the blond-haired man said with a wide smirk that practically screamed  _ asshole _ , “it looks like someone has been a very, very bad boy.”

 

“Sure does, sir,” the dark-haired man agreed with a sneer. His dark eyes took in Bucky, fully-dressed on Clint’s lap, and Clint only half-dressed underneath him.

 

“Never figured Hawkeye would be the type to consort with  _ them _ , though.” His voice and gaze were filled with disgust, and his focus was entirely on Bucky.

 

Bucky wanted to move, wanted to take up some kind of defensible position or  _ something, _ but he was acutely aware that doing so would only expose Clint more.

 

“Even Sentinels can be failures,” the blond-haired man shrugged. “Get them up and get them into custody. I’ll have to alert the College and call together the Council to resolve… this mess.”

 

-o-

 

A: Think Bucky should try to make a run for it?

B: Or should he face the consequences- whatever those - are of this mess - whatever it is?

  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shit goes DOWN.
> 
> Triggers for a bloody nose, some vague flashbacks to torture and some not good mental space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends,
> 
> Summer schedule means I open a show every or every other Tuesday so I'm switching the update day for this to Thursday. 
> 
>  
> 
> Currently unbeta'd because I'm an ass but I will swap out this chapter for the clean one later.

* * *

* * *

 

Bucky had been a prisoner before.

 

He’d been blindsided by strangers and beaten, and had his hands zip-tied together and a bag pulled over his head, and he’d been dragged to a vehicle and thrown into it and driven to the place where he would wait to die.

 

This had all happened before, and Bucky had survived then - barely, and through sheer stupidity more than anything else - but now?

 

Now, Bucky was jerked off of a naked man’s lap and shoved face-first against his own refrigerator, and his hands were secured with-

 

_ What in the ever-living fuck? _

 

It felt like something molten was wrapped around his wrists, burning and unforgiving and so intense Bucky must have blacked out, because he went from feeling nothing but agony and thinking nothing but  _ please not again, _ and then-

 

And then he was laying on the floor and the taller of the two assholes was slumped against the kitchen counter, covering his mouth with one hand and getting blood  _ everywhere _ on the kitchen surfaces that Bucky kept meticulously clean because a) gross, b) maybe it was a coping thing, c) it was definitely a coping thing.

 

And Clint - Clint was on his feet, still pantless, shouting at the tall, bleeding man while the other, blond-haired man stood between Clint and Bucky, his right hand palm-up and angled towards Clint, and there was some kind of blue fire crackling in his palm. No, not fire. Something more like lightning, like Emperor Palpatine in  _ Return of the Jedi, _ and maybe Bucky had hit his head when he fell down?

 

“... anything wrong. He doesn’t need silver cuffs!” Clint was still shouting, and Bucky made himself breathe through the pain, tried his absolute best not to dissociate from everything around him, not to run away to that place he’d found years ago that had let him survive captivity.

 

“He’s an incubus, and he just fed from one of the most powerful witches in North America. We aren’t letting him roam free,” the blond-haired man said, his tone of voice suggesting that he was not at all surprised to have to explain this to Clint, but was nonetheless disappointed in him. 

 

“He hasn’t hurt  _ anyone _ ,” Clint insisted, and took a step forward. The blue lightning crackled, growing and writhing until one tendril glanced over Clint’s cheek. He flinched and his lips compressed, but he didn’t back down. When the tendril withdrew, it left an angry red mark on Clint’s skin.

 

“And it is our job - it is  _ your _ job, Sentinel - to ensure he doesn’t hurt anyone. But here we find you, feeding him.” The blond-haired man tsked, and the lightning danced towards Clint again. “Perhaps he isn’t the only one we need to restrain, hm?” The lightning reached for Clint again, half a dozen blue streaks lashing towards his arms and face.

 

“Stop,” Bucky moaned, and levered himself into a sitting position. It felt like he was dying. “Leave ‘im ‘lone. My fault. I did it. Do whatever - me. To me only.” He was slurring his words, and he knew he sounded pathetic. Knew he  _ was _ pathetic but- 

 

But last time, last time he had been a sergeant in command of a fire team, and they had been ambushed. Five men and two women dead or dying, and Bucky had been the only one alive enough to be deemed useful to keep. To torture. To break. To unmake and try to reform and-

 

Bucky sucked in a breath, made himself set aside the ever-present memories of his failure, and focus on the now, on this chance to save this person when he hadn’t been able to save anyone else.

 

“I’ll come - no fight,” he promised, and forced his shaking legs upright, using the fridge as support so that he could stand. 

 

“It was your fault?” the blond-haired man echoed, turning partially towards Bucky, and the lightning withdrew from Clint, leaving dozens of red marks, and Bucky made himself memorize them, promised himself he would do whatever he had to to keep Clint from suffering worse.

 

“Mine,” Bucky confirmed. “I- I did my thing, to him. Forced him to-”

 

“Fuck  _ off _ ,” Clint snarled. “I did it of my own free will. I-”

 

But the man’s entire attention was focused on Bucky now.

 

“Did you really? Manage to seduce our Sentinel?”

 

Bucky tried to project a confidence he didn’t feel - hadn’t felt in years.

 

“Of course. What - is it supposed to be difficult to do?”

 

Clint looked ready to murder Bucky on the spot, but the other man was still focused on Bucky, was now staring at him with interest and intent, and Bucky did not like that look at  _ all _ . But, still, the man wasn’t attacking Clint with his handful of lightning. 

 

“Rumlow. Stop being such a baby and remember that you are a  _ witch _ . Clean up your face and take this  _ thing _ ,” he gestured towards Bucky with a sneer and a flash of pale eyes that were the same color as his lightning, “to the College.”

 

“Sir,” Rumlow groaned, voice wet and face an absolute mess when he pulled his hand away, and Bucky had to look away because  _ blood _ was not a thing he wanted to see or think about or- 

 

Or smell.

 

God. The smell.

 

Of Rumlow’s blood. Of Clint’s burnt flesh and- 

 

And it was all, suddenly, the same. The same as all those years ago, when it had been Bucky’s blood and Bucky’s burnt flesh, and it was all happening  _ again _ and he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t see anything, couldn’t feel anything except fear and the icy certainty that he was not going to survive this.

 

The look in the blond-haired man’s eyes only confirmed this, and Bucky’s last conscious thought was that he deserved this.

 

This was fate catching up to him, doing him in when Bucky had escaped time and time again, but now, now, this man’s eyes promised, all of that was over.

 

Bucky was undoubtedly done for.

 

-o-

* * *

* * *

 

Okay, this week I need you to decide who Bucky’s ride or die blast from the past friendship will make an appearance:

 

  1. Best friends since childhood on the playground and back alley fights, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes 5eva.
  2. Russian solidarity, Natalia Romanova and Bucky Barnes ready to dismantle evil one knife under the ribs at a time.




	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive!!!
> 
> No, but seriously, summer hiatus. This is probably the last update for this until August/September and the same goes for my other fics.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Three days.

Rumlow had dragged Bucky into a cell and thrown face first onto the floor before putting a booted foot to the center of Bucky’s back and wrenching his arms around until he could pry the silver cuffs from Bucky’s burning wrists and then he was left alone.

Mostly.

Rumlow came back a few hours later and tossed a greasy brown paper bag emblazoned with the McDonald’s logo on it inside the cell and snarled something about hoping Bucky liked meat that wasn’t Clint’s dick. It hadn’t been all that clever, and Bucky had been too furious and too scared too point out how witty Rumlow wasn’t.

His body had healed the burns from the silver so very fast - faster than the cut on his thumb had healed, which had taken days. These burns, raw and oozing and so painful Bucky wasn’t sure if his urge to vomit was from disgust or pain, took only a few hours to heal.

That was another thing to be scared about, and Bucky didn’t know why or how his body was doing this but…

But at the moment, he didn’t know much of anything.

So he ate the burger and the fries and guzzled the bottle of water in the bag because one of the things he had learned the last time he had been held captive was that there was no point in rejecting food or water. If they wanted to kill him or hurt him, there were easier and more sure ways of it than poison. And it was pointless to ‘take a stand’ and make himself weaker. So, he ate and he drank and he wondered just what the fuck kind of trouble he’d gotten himself into now.

That was the first day.

The second day, Rumlow came back with another bottle of water and another bag of McDonald’s and another taunt - again referencing Clint, though this time it was to tell Bucky how much of a fuss Clint was putting up wherever the hell he was being kept, whining about Bucky this and Bucky that and Rumlow wasn’t surprised that Clint had fallen for a succubus because Clint was, according to Rumlow, that kind of pathetic.

Bucky wasn’t an idiot, and it was obvious Rumlow was fishing for information about Clint, so he kept his mouth shut and Rumlow called him an idiot and left.

On the third day, Rumlow just had water. That was a sign to Bucky, a sign that this captivity wasn’t going to be ending any time soon because starving him into compliance or whatever they wanted - whoever the hell they were - was going to take more than a few days.

Well, he had water and another mention of Clint.

“Looks like your Familiar called in a few favors to save his own ass. Too bad it’s not going to help you.”

Bucky had no idea what any of that meant, and only figured Rumlow was referring to Clint because it didn’t make sense for him to be referring to anyone else.

He remained silent, regardless, and Rumlow once again stormed off.

It was late enough that night to maybe be another day, and Bucky was dozing with his back to the wall furthest from the entrance to the cell block when he was startled awake.

“James. I thought we talked about you getting yourself into impossible situations.”

The voice was familiar in the same way that his worst nightmares were familiar, in the same way that Becca’s hand in his was familiar and the sound of her laugh was familiar.

“Natalia?”

He couldn’t see anything, the darkness around him so impenetrable it felt like his eyes had been painted black.

But then there she was, suddenly in the cell, suddenly standing right in front of him and… glowing? Her pale skin was barely illuminated, her eyes shadowed and her hair a vivid red stain against the black and her mouth a dark, unamused curve.

“What the fuck?” He breathed.

“That,” she said and lowered herself until she was sitting in front of him and her mouth curved into an achingly familiar bittersweet smile, “is exactly what I was thinking.”

“What are you -” he reached for her and his hands passed right through her. “Oh fucking hell. This is a dream. I’m - fuck. I’m so fucked.” He closed his eyes and hit his head back against the wall, the rough stone biting into his scalp and pain flaring through him.

“This isn’t a dream. And I’m not sure if you’re fucked. I… I’m working on that. James. Look at me.”

He made himself open his eyes.

“This isn’t like before. I’m not leaving you behind this time. I will get you out.”

“Got out last time too,” he pointed out with a wry smirk.

They both knew - or at least, James and the real Natalia - that Bucky had only been rescued before as an accident, an unexpected and complicated bonus when the CIA raided a terrorist cell in Kabul and found an American soldier long presumed dead actually alive and being held prisoner.

“James. Did you bond with Clint?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you bond with him?”

“Over emergency sex?” Bucky didn’t understand the question, didn’t understand why Natalia cared if he had made a new friend when he was being held captive, didn’t understand her strange emphasis on the word ‘bond.’

Natalia made a frustrated sound.

“Did you - you don’t know anything about this, do you?”

“Natalia, I don’t know anything about anything. I got turned into a succubus my some hipster and now sex makes me - I met Clint like twenty minutes before I blew him and then those assholes broke into my apartment and dragged us off and I don’t even know where he is or where I am or - fuck. I’m not gonna break this soon.”

Bucky made himself breathe, focused on keeping it even and deep and squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t start crying.

Impossible situation. That’s what Natalia or her… ghost or whatever the hell this was, had called it.

And that’s exactly how it felt.

When Bucky opened his eyes again, Natalia was staring at him, gaze hard and unflinching.

For three months, he and Natalia had been shoved into a dark, muddy basement with dank air and barely enough space to sit without touching each other. She had been… well, he still wasn’t entirely sure. SVR, Bucky had always assumed, but no one had ever confirmed. And Bucky had been down an arm and all hope and it had taken Natalia threatening him daily to even keep himself alive. But then she had been freed - her ransom paid and her savage promise to get him out the only thing he had left of her for the next eight months while he was shuffled from one warlord to another until his accidental rescue almost a year after his capture.

This was the same way she had looked at him then, and as much as it made his stomach roil with memories, it also reminded him that he had survived.

“When they come for you tomorrow, tell them you invoke the right to be Judged.”

“I - what?”

“James, you have to listen to me. You invoke the right to be Judged. And if - if you are bonded to Clint, say that. It might save you.”

“I don’t even know what any of that means,” Bucky protested.

“You don’t have to. Not yet. Just say it.”

And then she was gone, just as suddenly as she had arrived, plunging him back into the impenetrable darkness as the spectre of her face blinked out of existence.

Bucky curled around himself, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them and closing his eyes.

Natalia had sounded so determined, so confident.

But then, she had the last time too.

 

-o-

Your choice this time:

Natasha is shapeshifter  
Natasha is a vampire


	8. Chapter 8

Rumlow dragged Bucky out of the cell and laughed when Bucky tried to punch him.

 

“Easy there, big guy. Unless you want the cuffs again.”

 

Bucky did not want the cuffs again, so he refrained from any more violence, even when Rumlow decided to drag Bucky half by his left shoulder and half by his  _ hair _ .

 

It hurt like hell, both grips, and what’s more it pissed Bucky off. It pissed him off because he still had no fucking clue what was going on, despite the visit from Natalia - or her ghost or his his own broken fucking brain - and he was, probably understandably, losing it. So he was pissed at Rumlow and he was pissed at himself and he was pissed at the  _ world _ .

 

And then he was being shoved onto his knees in a painfully bright room and Rumlow was backing away as if in anticipation of Bucky lashing out at him. Which was probably the smartest thing Rumlow had done in their brief acquaintance.

 

Bucky grinned at Rumlow, taunting him, and tried to look around the bright room and figure out where the fuck he was.

 

His cursory inspection offered up nothing in terms of location - somewhere really, really fucking bright even without any obvious sources of light, with white, reflective walls that seemed to glow - but he did see that there were a lot of people in the room.

 

Rumlow, of course, who backed away from Bucky to stand beside the blond haired man who had accompanied him to Bucky’s apartment.

 

Clint, looking exhausted, bruised and dressed once again and standing several feet away from both Rumlow and the other guy. He was looking at Bucky, blue eyes critical as they roamed over him, as if checking Bucky for injuries. As if Clint wasn’t the guy still sporting the twisty little marks from that force lightning shit or what looked like a broken nose and a split lip.

 

Natalia stood near Clint, dressed all in black, her arms crossed over her narrow torso and looking very unimpressed and very  _ real _ . Not at all like the shadowy whatever from last night. Her sharp eyes flicked over Bucky once and then away, as if bored.

 

On her other side was a tall, lean man with dark skin, an eye patch, and an ensemble of entirely black - from his black turtleneck and black trousers to the long black leather duster that shrouded him. He looked like someone out of a comic book. And if Bucky hadn’t watched the blond haired guy attack Clint with blue lightning, he would have commented on that. But, well, that had happened, so Bucky kept his mouth shut.

 

There were two other men in the room, one standing near the blond haired man, the other closer to the guy with the eye patch. They were about as different as night and day - one lean, dark haired and pale faced, the other huge with golden hair and skin.

 

“So,” the dark haired man spoke up, a slight sneer curving his lips, “this is what all of the trouble is about?” He had a slight accent, something vaguely Eastern European, and his eyes raked over Bucky from head to toe and left him with the impression that the man was not at all impressed.

 

“He’s the first incubus we’ve caught in nearly fifty years,” the blond haired man beside Rumlow practically drawled.

 

The huge, golden man frowned.

 

“What are you trying to suggest?” he demanded. “That my team hasn’t been doing our job?”

 

The blond haired man held up his hands, as if placating the golden man, but the smirk on his face was tinged with amusement.

 

“Easy there, Captain. We’re all on the same side, after all. Aren’t we?”

 

The question was met with a strained, awkward silence. 

 

It was immediately obvious to Bucky that shit was going down here, shit that didn’t even involve him. Which couldn’t possibly be good.

 

“Of course we are,” the man with the eye patch said, “but I’m still waiting for someone to explain to me just why we needed to call a full council meeting to deal with a single incubus.” His gaze swept over Bucky. “Especially a  _ baby _ incubus.”

 

“You’ll have to ask your team that question, Nick,” the blond haired man said. “Rumlow, Zemo and I had everything under control. Even disciplining your Eyes,” he said that last with a gesture towards Clint.

 

Clint glared back, and the golden man’s jaw locked into a stubborn line. 

 

“Director Pierce,” the golden man sounded just barely deferential, “with all due respect, Clint doesn’t need  _ discipline _ .”

 

The blond haired man, Director Pierce, snorted in amusement.

 

“Your entire  _ team _ needs discipline, Captain. But that isn’t why we’re here, I suppose. Are we at least in agreement that the creature needs to be dealt with?” He gestured towards Bucky.

 

Natalia glanced towards Bucky, eyes narrowed and angry and - 

 

Oh. Right.

 

He was supposed to say something. He was supposed to -

 

“I want the right to be judged,” Bucky said, his voice sounding rusty and alien to his own ears. “Also, he’s mine.” He gestured towards Clint. 

 

Natalia rolled her eyes.

 

“We’re bonded,” Bucky remembered. “Clint and me.”

 

“You  _ bonded _ with an incubus?” The Captain demanded, turning on Clint.

 

Clint offered him a sheepish grin.

 

“What? He’s hot.”

 

The Captain turned his glare towards Natalia, who shrugged, expression neutral. The Captain sighed and shook his head.

 

“Well,” the man with the eye patch drawled. “Setting aside just how stupid Barton is, sounds like the incubus wants to be Judged. Or did you want to  _ deal with the creature _ your way, Director?”

 

There was another tense moment, Pierce and the other man glaring at each other, and Bucky was pretty sure that one of these two men wanted him dead and the other… actually, they probably both wanted him dead.

 

A glance in Clint’s direction was hardly reassuring. Clint was looking directly at Bucky, and the expression on his face practically screamed  _ I fucked up and I’m sorry _ .

 

Pierce broke the glaring match.

 

“Zemo, why don’t you Judge him and then we’ll deal with this mess.” 

 

The lean, dark haired man who had first spoken smirked and stepped forward.

 

“Of course,” he said to Pierce before focusing his entire attention on Bucky. “This,” he said, “is probably going to hurt.”

 

-o-

 

A: things get worse

B: things get a little better?

 

(and Natasha’s power/thing reveal will be coming up soon!)

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Bucky woke with a start, scrambling in the tangle of sheets around his body and frantically scanning the dark, unfamiliar room he found himself in and -

 

And he wasn’t alone in this strange room.

 

Sitting in a cream armchair that looked entirely too much like hospital furniture for Bucky’s tastes, the golden man - the Captain - was looking back at Bucky with a faint smirk on his lips.

 

“Where the fuck am I?” Bucky asked.

 

“Somewhere safe,” the Captain assured him. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles, looking for all the world like he was  _ relaxing _ while Bucky was freaking the fuck out.

 

“What - what happened to me?”

 

Another smirk from the Captain.

 

“How big picture are you asking?”

 

Bucky glared at him.

 

“The Judgement?” The Captain shrugged. “Zemo poked around, made you relieve some of your most defining experiences,” the smirk vanished, replaced with a grimace that made Bucky intensely uncomfortable. “You were pretty out of it by the end - it’s painful, even when you’re not relieving all of… the things you’ve been through. When Zemo got to the memories of you and Clint, he, uh, threw a bit of a tantrum and demanded that Zemo stop and well, you passed out and Clint and Rumlow had a bit of a fight and anyway. Pierce released you into our custody. For the time being.”

 

“What the fuck does that even  _ mean _ ?” Bucky demanded. “Who  _ are _ you?”

 

“Steve Rogers. I lead the SHIELD forces.”

 

“The what?”

 

“We’re a branch of the college. A… a strategic branch. Fury is our commander. Natasha and Clint are on my team.”

 

Bucky wasn’t really closer to understanding  _ anything _ , but at this point - hell, after Garth gave him the incubus curse, Bucky had pretty much written off the ability to completely understand anything ever again.

 

“My sister,” he realized. “I need to -”

 

Rogers held up one hand.

 

“She knows you’re safe. I spoke with Wanda while you were out.”

 

“So why not let me call her? Or better yet, why don’t I just go see her?”

 

Rogers smirked again, clearly on to Bucky’s attempts to feel out just how much of a prisoner he still was.

 

“Why not wait until things have settled a bit, and we’ve decided just what we’re going to do with you?” Rogers suggested.

 

So, Bucky decided, he was still very much a prisoner.

 

Bucky sighed.

 

“Where’s Clint? Where’s Natal - Natasha?”

 

“They’re with Fury. Trying to solve the problem of you.”

 

“Why aren’t you with them? If you’re the leader of the team?”

 

Steve shrugged, Bucky’s attempt at insulting him having absolutely no effect.

 

“You’re already so familiar with the two of them. I figured it was my turn to get to know you.”

 

Which Bucky could take all kinds of ways - from Rogers not trusting Bucky around the other two to… Rogers being affected by Bucky’s curse.

 

But Rogers was keeping his hands to himself, was sitting all stretched out in his chair and looking about as non-threatening as someone who was that much of a giant beefcake could look.

 

“So what are you?” Bucky asked with a sigh. “A witch? A vampire? Goblin? Zombie?”

 

“Ouch,” Rogers pouted. “You trying to call me ugly?”

 

Bucky glared at him.

 

“It’s actually a little rude to ask that kind of question,” Rogers murmured, turning slightly serious. “But Wanda told me you’re new to all of this. Hell of a way to get involved in our world, I bet.”

 

“No fucking kidding.”

 

“I’m a shapeshifter.”

 

“Werewolf?”

 

“No. That’s a very specific curse. A shapeshifter can shift into different animals at will.”

 

“Handy.”

 

Rogers shrugged.

 

“It has its uses.”

 

Bucky wanted to ask more - he had so many damn questions and it wasn’t like he’d had all that much opportunity to really  _ talk _ to Clint. In between the fucking and the absolute disaster of that ambush from Pierce and Rumlow.

 

“How’d they find me?” He asked, more to himself than to Rogers.

 

“Rumlow and Pierce?” Rogers shrugged. “I’m pretty curious about that myself. It’s not like Rumlow’s all that sensitive to sex magic. And Pierce… hell. I’d say it was you and Clint Bonding, but we both know that’s bullshit.”

 

“We do?”

 

Rogers gave him a hard look.

 

“Yes, we do. You’re no more Bonded to Clint than I am.”

 

“Oh.”

 

That was news to Bucky.

 

Of course, he had no clue what  _ Bonding _ even was but… Natasha had said Clint was insisting they were Bonded and Bucky had just assumed that was a thing.

 

Rogers’s face shifted, full lips turning down and eyes narrowing.

 

“You really thought you were Bonded?”

 

“Look, pal, I have no fucking clue what Bonded even means. All I know is that Natalia told me to ask for a Judgement and Clint told  _ her _ we were Bonded and I - I don’t even know  _ anything _ , okay?”

 

Rogers gave him a look, somewhere between sympathy and curiosity.

 

“What do you know about the Yankees?” He eventually asked Bucky.

 

Bucky stared at him, taken aback by the abrupt shift. But, hell. 

 

“You mean those overhyped assholes who can’t buy themselves World Series rings anymore?”

 

Rogers smiled at him, bright and open and a little breathtaking.

 

“You see that game against Boston last week?”

 

“The one where the Yankees were  _ stomped on _ for two beautiful hours and -”

 

“That home run, over the Green Monster in the eighth? And -”

 

“When he sat down the top of the lineup in the ninth and -”

 

“That  _ fight _ with the umps and -”

 

“Well. Aren’t you two looking cosy.”

 

It was the guy with the eyepatch, standing in the room’s only doorway, arms crossed and expression forbidding as he looked over Bucky and Rogers.

 

Rogers got to his feet in one swift motion.

 

“You told me to make myself comfortable, sir.”

 

The guy - Commander Fury - raised his eyebrows.

 

“I’m docking Romanoff’s pay for teaching you sass.”

 

Rogers smirked.

 

“‘Fraid I came this way, sir. And we both know she’d just acquire the funds anyway.”

 

Fury muttered something, shook his head, and focused his intense, single-eyed gaze on Bucky.

 

“You and I need to have a talk,” he said, and it was pretty clear that Bucky wasn’t going to enjoy it at all.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re a Yankees fan,” Bucky sneered.

 

Fury pointed at Rogers.

 

“Get your ass out of here and stop letting people think they can give me attitude like you do.”

 

“Natasha gave you attitude first, sir,” Rogers said, smirk on his face as he offered Fury a salute that was maybe sixty-percent mocking. He gave Bucky an indecipherable look and then left the room.

 

“So. You lied to the Council and my Dagger owes you a life debt and my Eye wants to spend the rest of his life fucking your brains out. You seduce my Shield too?”

 

“You wanna try that again in English?” Bucky suggested.

 

Fury glared at him.

 

“Give me one good reason right now why I shouldn’t hand you over to Pierce and Rumlow and let them go through with whatever they were planning on doing with you.”

 

So much, Bucky thought a little bitterly, for being  _ safe _ .

 

-o-

 

-o-

Okay, there WILL be some better times ahead next week and hey - chatting baseball with Steve counts as good times, right?

 

This week the question is: to bond or not to bond?

 

* * *

Follow me on Tumblr and Twitter!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now beta read by the Amazing Ro!!!

Fury didn’t seem like the kind of guy to appreciate, let alone accept, bullshit. 

 

He also seemed like the kind of guy who would take a mile if you gave him an inch.

 

Bucky didn’t know if he, himself, was in any position that wasn’t  _ groveling for his life _ , so he hesitated before answering Fury’s question.

 

“You and your team went to a lot of trouble to make sure I didn’t end up with Pierce,” he finally pointed out.

 

Fury arched an eyebrow at him, apparently waiting for Bucky to elaborate. But, well, Bucky had survived being tortured for months. He  _ knew _ not to give away what he didn’t need to. 

 

Eventually, Fury huffed in annoyance and stepped closer to the bed.

 

“You are going to be more trouble than you’re worth,” he sneered.

 

Those were words Bucky could feel in his bones, right about now. His tired, aching bones.

 

“But, as you pointed out, I already went to the trouble. So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to listen to Barton, and you’re going to do what he tells you, and you’re going to feed from him and  _ only _ from him from here on out. Understood?”

 

Bucky didn’t really - the words made sense, as far as orders went, but what the hell was Clint going to tell him to do?

 

“Sure,” he said anyway, and Fury’s eyes narrowed at his tone.

 

“And if you set even one  _ toe _ out of line - I’m going to pretend I never saw your Judgement and throw you into the nearest oubliette, got it?”

 

It was a word Natasha,  _ Natalia _ , had taught Bucky. The place where you put people to forget about them.

 

Bucky glared at Fury, and Fury glared right back.

 

“What about our Bond?” Bucky made himself ask.

 

Fury snorted, and his lips curled up in an expression that was more sneer than smirk.

 

“Yeah. Sure, that too. Since you and Barton want to lie to everyone about that - do whatever you want. Keep on lying and wait to get caught in the lie or Bond. Either way, it’s the dumbest idea Barton has ever had.”

 

And with that, Fury swept out of the room.

 

Leaving Bucky alone, confused and more than a little nauseated. 

 

Pierce and Rumlow hadn’t been good guys - hadn’t pretended otherwise, either. But Fury, Steve… Clint and Natasha?

 

Bucky didn’t actually know if  _ they _ were the good guys. 

 

Fury’s little chat hadn’t done much to convince Bucky, and, not for the first time since Garth and the whole magic/cursed dick thing… Bucky had to wonder if there was any possible way this didn’t end absolutely terribly.

 

Evidence strongly suggested no.

 

-o-

 

Bucky fell asleep again, eventually, and when he next woke up, the light outside had shifted to darkness and the room was illuminated only by the faint glow of streetlights and a band of gold light coming through under the closed door.

 

For a moment, Bucky felt claustrophobic, trapped and alone and-

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Bucky? You’re okay. I’m here. I’m with you, you’re all good. It’s okay.”

 

A strong hand gripped his own, the fingers warm and calloused, and Bucky followed the line of the fingers to the wrist, the forearm and- 

 

“Clint.”

 

Even in the nearly non-existent light, Bucky could make out his features.

 

“That’s what they call me.”

 

Bucky tugged on their joined hands, and Clint let himself be pulled onto the bed.

 

“You okay?” Clint asked, and then winced. “That was the dumbest fucking question I’ve ever asked. Shit, Bucky. I- I’m so sorry.”

 

“For what?” Bucky asked, words a sigh against Clint’s chest, and Clint huffed out a laugh and adjusted himself so that he was actually holding Bucky in his arms.

 

Just having Clint close made the fear and nausea retreat. Not entirely, but enough that Bucky could close his eyes and take a deep breath and feel something that wasn’t terror. 

 

It was immeasurably comforting to hear and feel Clint’s heartbeat, to know he wasn’t alone. To not feel forgotten and imprisoned.

 

“You want the list in alphabetical or chronological order? I was supposed to help you out, and instead… I pretty much fucked you over in the worst way possible.”

 

“Fucked me in a good way too,” Bucky had to point out. 

 

Clint groaned.

 

“Yeah, about that-”

 

“Fury already told me I’m only allowed to fuck you for the rest of my miserable life,” Bucky sighed.

 

He thought of Garth again. Of Garth saying that he had had the curse for seventy years and-

 

“What’s Bonding mean?” he asked.

 

Clint groaned again, arms tightening around Bucky, and Bucky was pretty sure that meant he wasn’t going to be thrilled by whatever Clint was about to say.

 

“So, you know how sex gives you this kind of… bridge to the energy of another person? And that’s how you feed? And become powerful?”

 

“I guess I know that now,” Bucky muttered.

 

“Right. Yeah. Remind me to actually look up incubi and figure this stuff out with you.”

 

“Sounds like a priority.”

 

“It is. So, a Bond is kind of like a permanent bridge between two people. Or more, I guess, if we’re talking Shapeshifter packs?”

 

“Does Steve have a pack?”

 

“Wha- No. No, Steve kind of isn’t allowed to. But that’s- that’s a different kind of complicated than your kind of complicated.”

 

“Is there anything about magic that  _ isn’t _ complicated?” Bucky grumbled.

 

“Not really, no,” Clint admitted.

 

“So. A Bond is a permanent bridge. Why did you lie to everyone about us having one?”

 

“Er, well, it was… you know, bridges work both ways.”

 

“Right…”

 

“So if you can take stuff from me, I can take stuff from you.”

 

“Hence the ‘works both ways’ thing.”

 

“Yeah. Exactly.”

 

Clint didn’t explain more, and Bucky was left feeling frustrated as he tried to figure out just what Clint wasn’t saying and-

 

“Wait. So if something bad happened to me, it would happen to you too?”

 

“More or less. Depends on what kind of bad.”

 

“What about death bad?”

 

“I really don’t think they were going to kill you.”

 

He didn’t sound entirely confident, but Bucky didn’t want to go down that road at the moment.

 

“What would have happened - if we were Bonded and they had killed me?”

 

Clint sighed.

 

“Probably I would have died too.”

 

“And you’re important enough that they couldn’t risk that,” Bucky concluded.

 

“I’m a pain in the ass enough that they couldn’t risk it,” Clint corrected.

 

“You’re Fury’s Eye. Fuck - is that because he only has one?”

 

Clint snorted a laugh.

 

“Ah, no, that’s- No. It’s… so Steve is the Shield, right? I’m the Eye and Natasha is the Dagger. It’s our job to watch over the magical community, to make sure that the college’s laws are being obeyed, and that normal humans aren’t being hurt.”

 

Bucky couldn’t help a tiny, bitter surge of anger at the realization that Garth should have been stopped by them, instead of able to go around and pass on his curse.

 

“So really, it’s my fault that you’re in this situation at all,” Clint concluded, as if reading Bucky’s mind.

 

“Garth’s fault too,” Bucky sighed.

 

“Sure,” Clint agreed.

 

“So what happens now?” Bucky had to ask.

 

“With you?”

 

“Yeah, with me.”

 

“Well, Fury gave me the go ahead to get you out of here. I bet your sister wants to see you.”

 

“Wonder if I even still have a job,” Bucky sighed. “Three days of not showing up and not calling in isn’t exactly the kind of thing that’s going to get me a promotion.”

 

“Yeah. Uh. We’ll have to work on that.”

 

“We?”

 

“Yeah. We. I’m going to help you however I can, Bucky.”

 

“I can’t make fucking you my full-time job, Clint.”

 

“I’m talking about more than just that. Bucky - look, we don’t have to Bond now, but we really do… kind of have to Bond.”

 

It wasn’t exactly surprising news, not now that Bucky understood what it meant. But it also just wasn’t something he wanted to deal with right now.

 

Then again,  _ none  _ of it was.

 

“I’m tired,” Bucky said, even though he had just woken up from sleeping for however long.

 

“Not surprised. A Judgement really takes it out of you physically and magically. I’ll let you sleep some more, okay?”

 

Clint started to pull away, but Bucky held on to him.

 

“Stay,” Bucky said, not even asking.

 

Clint was tense for a moment, but then he relaxed, his long, lean body curling around Bucky’s on the bed and his lips brushing over Bucky’s forehead.

 

“Okay. If that’s what you want.”

 

-o-

 

Your choice for next week:

 

  1. Sexy times and then disaster times
  2. Sexy times and then Tony Stark times



**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to Ro for support and beta reading, and for being my first 'pick between these options' for this fic.  
> And thank you to CB, who got to be my second 'pick a thing' person and who is amazing and wonderful.
> 
> I'm so damn spoiled and grateful.


End file.
